A cautionary tale about waxing

Posted on July 12, 2015 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged bikini waxing, italy, Mrs Sensible, sauna • 53 Comments

During February Mrs Sensible was invited to go to a sauna in Liguria. I was not invited because it was an outing for her girlie school teacher friends. I protested about sex discrimination and Mrs S protested that the last time I visited a sauna I went Al naturali. It appears Italians wear swimming costumes in hot steamy saunas.

While Mrs S was deciding which swimsuit to wear, she also decided she required a bikini wax. When she suggested I help her, I pointed out my aversion to pain and suffering and declined to get involved in any way.

Laugh! I could have cried

It is sometimes quite difficult to refuse to help Mrs Sensible. In the past I have under protest, had to hang the washing, wash the car and even fold and put away my socks. So in February I found myself gritting my teeth and holding Mrs Sensible’s skin taut as she quickly applied and expertly ripped away wax strips. Mrs S is made of stern stuff and she never flinched, it did however bring tears to my eyes.
So let’s now roll forward to yesterday. Mrs S announced we had been invited to the beach by her sister. She also told me she wanted a bikini wax and as the local beautician was fully booked I was once again drafted in as her waxing assistant. I took the opportunity to wander off to the bedroom and take a quick afternoon nap, in the hope the waxing was completed by the time I woke up.

I was rudely woken to the sound of Mrs S warming a waxing strip between her hands in the bedroom. This particular waxing strip didn’t look like the one we used last time, it looked more like something you might use to seal a puncture in a car tyre or maybe wrap around a leaking pipe.

Mrs Sensible’s waxing strips

As I held her skin taut Mrs S applied the waxing strip to her inner thigh. To make sure it was secure I gave it a little pat. It was at this point that I suddenly started to have doubts whether we would be able to remove it. Mrs S grabbed the corner of the waxing strip and gave it a tentative tug, it didn’t budge. So she gave it another pull and a small corner lifted off her skin. Grasping the corner and pulling she managed to slowly remove the strip, leaving all the wax and offending hair still well and truly stuck to her leg.
With a lot of tact I asked Mrs S where she had bought the waxing strip that was currently stuck firmly to three of my fingers and the little hairs on the back of my hand. I found it at the bottom of my make-up bag she told me, I think it might be out of date. As I stood, looked and pondered the problem of green wax stuck to Mrs Sensible’s leg, I realised I had seen less wax stuck around a Chianti bottle than was currently stuck to the top of Mrs S leg.

Less wax than on Mrs Sensible’s leg

Mrs S walked into the lounge (still with half a kilo of green wax stuck to her inner thigh) and sat down to phone her sister to tell her that we have a small crisis and might be a little delayed. When Mrs S put her phone down I suggested she should soak in a hot soapy bath and try to remove the wax. As she stood up she encountered another small problem, maybe even another small crisis. The wax had completely glued her thighs together.

There are times no matter how difficult it is, that it is important not to laugh at someone else’s misfortune no matter how funny it might seem, and I am alive today because I managed not to laugh or even grin as she waddled like a penguin in the general direction of the bathroom

Mrs S waddled to the bathroom

As we drove to her sisters, just a little later than we had planned. Mrs S turned to me and said “what are you thinking about” nothing I replied. You are she said I know you too well. Don’t for one minute think you are going to turn this into one of your blog posts.

As if!

Blackberry: A lesson in customer service. (Italians please pay attention)

Posted on May 28, 2013 by Pecora Nera • Posted in home • Tagged an englishman in italy, Blackberry customer service, Blackberry Playbook, customer service, englishman, expat, Fedex fiasco, Fiasco, fun expats, humour, Italians, italy, language, Mrs Sensible, piemonte, Playbook camera stopped working, RIM, RIM customer service, sauna • 59 Comments

A while ago I wrote a post about the Fedex fiasco , I was trying to point out, that even a well oiled machine like Fedex grinds to a halt as soon as it crosses over the border into Bella Italia. Last week, the camera on my Blackberry Playbook ceased to work, I thought another fiasco was about to begin….

For my birthday, my children bought me a Blackberry Playbook. It is a wonderful device. I use it to read English books, watch films, and to monitor the fat I am losing I have lost two and a half kilos in the past 2 weeks. When I travel I use the playbook to keep track of my business expenses, price lists, quotations, e mails, gosh the list goes on. To be honest, Mrs Sensible tends to get a tad annoyed with me and the Playbook, because it is normally glued to my hand, as I read yet another book.

Disaster stuck on the 14^th May 2013, the Playbook camera stopped working. I was devastated, I could still read books and all the other functions worked, but without the camera I couldn’t annoy Mrs Sensible, by filming her while she paints her toe nails or capture her admitting to one of the few mistakes that she makes.

Mrs Sensible is a bit camera shy.

My children bought the Blackberry Playbook in Meadowhall UK, the receipt is nowhere to be seen. I spent two days deciding whether to contact Blackberry, to see if they could fix it under warranty. The main stumbling points were A) I had lost my receipt, B) would my Playbook get lost in the Italian postal system and finally, C) Would my playbook be sent to Giuseppe Garybaldy in some repair clinic in Naples, never to be seen again.

I decided to phone Blackberry; I ignored the Italian helpline and instead phoned the UK helpline. Paula, one of Blackberry’s technical support staff, answered the phone. She asked me what the problem was. I began by explaining the camera fault; I then started to tell her how I had tried to fix the fault myself. I went into great detail, telling her I had researched the playbook forums and I had tried all the fixes, including holding down various buttons and forcing the playbook to reboot. I don’t think she was too impressed. I promised, I would never again try to fix my playbook myself.

Paula told me she needed my Playbook to send her a report. She explained how to do this and promised to call me back in twenty minutes. What a nice woman!

Twenty minutes later, Paula phoned me and said it was a hardware problem, she said I needed to send my Playbook to their service centre. I could just visualise good ole Giuseppe Garybaldy with his screw driver and hammer, plus the next six months of asking “have you found my Playbook.” I told Paula, that I had reservation about sending my playbook to any site within Bella Italia. I think I told her about my driving licence fiasco, and various other problems I have had with Italy. I even offered to pay the carriage, if she would let me send the Playbook to a UK repair centre.

Paula laughed, she said the Playbook needed to go to Germany. Ah the Germans!! I remember them from the sauna Now that is a different story, the Germans are more efficient than the English. In fact, they make the English look like Italians when it comes to efficiency. Paula said, she would send me a box with instructions, I was to put my Playbook in the box, complete the form and ask DHL to collect the box. There was nothing to pay; what a nice lady!

Honest I did a google search for German efficiency and this came up.

The following day, Paula E mailed me and asked “have you got the box?” I had a quick scout around my office and reception, I couldn’t see it.

I asked the accounts lady “I search box, this big, you see?”

COSA? (WHAT?)

I asked the company secretary “box, like this, DHL, errhh you see?”

She gave me a ten minute explanation, which I didn’t understand, but I nodded my head as though everything was as clear as ~~mud~~ day.

I e-mailed Paula to say, sorry but the box has not arrived. As I pressed the E mail send button, I wandered of to the coffee machine, and there on a shelf was my box. Of course it was there, I work in an Italian office and of course, I should expect my box to be hidden. This is why Italy grinds to a stop; no one knows who moved what or why.

I watch movies while I cook, Please note, the playbook stand in use is not a Blackberry authorised stand.

I placed my playbook in the box and sent it back to Blackberry. I was wondering, how I was going to cope without my playbook; would the DT’s set in? Would I have to watch Italian television? 24 hours later, DHL delivered a brand new Blackberry Playbook.

Paula phoned me and asked if it had received my brand spanking new Playbook, she asked if she could phone me on Monday to make sure the Playbook was working and to make sure I was happy. What an incredibly nice woman!!

I am not sure where Paula is based, but I sent her, a link to the Fedex Fiasco. After lunch I checked my stats, lots of hits on the Fedex Fiasco and 72 visitors from Portugal. Now if I was a betting man, I would say the lovely lady from Blackberry is based in Portugal.

Sauna German Style

Posted on October 31, 2012 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Health • Tagged an englishman in italy, englishman, expat, fun expats, Germans, Germany, Italia, italian, Italians, naked, sauna, spa nude, swimming • 41 Comments

Sauna German Style

Last time I was in Germany I visited a spa and sauna centre, and after the swim I decided to try my first ever sauna so wrapping my towel around my waist I went in search of the sauna rooms.

The first wooden door had a sign with DAME and although my German is limited to words learnt while watching war films, I thought it was prudent not to enter that particular door. The following door had Finnish printed on it, so very slowly I peeked inside. Four huge male Germans were sat on the wooden benches buck naked. It was only as I entered the sauna that I realised that although they were naked, under my towel I still had my trunks on. I am not sure which would be more embarrassing, caught wearing trunks in a German sauna or sitting there naked with a bunch of Germans.

I decided that they were men after all and we are all made the same, just slightly different in places, so I excused myself and retreated back to the changing room to ditch the trunks. Knowing you are nude under a towel as you walk through the swimming pool area while everyone else has a costume on is a very nerve-racking experience, once or twice I nearly chickened out and went back for my costume.

Swimming Trunks

When I returned to the sauna the four Germans were still sat cooking away, so ditching my protective towel I sat down on one of the benches as far away from them as I could. It was hot and I mean really hot; after walking out of the sauna once I knew I would have to stay at least 5 minutes or if I was lucky I might manage to leave when the Germans had had enough. As I sat watching beads of sweat miraculously appear on my arm I decided that protocol or no protocol, I desperately needed to leave the sauna. It was just as I started to stand up that the door opened and three pretty women walked in. One lay down on the bench and the other two sat across from me.

No one uttered a word; none of the Germans said the girl’s sauna is down the corridor. I couldn’t say anything, my German was limited to halt, ausfart and bitte and all I could think was they are naked, nude, no clothes and oh lord so am I. I was already cooked to a crisp and wanted to leave the sauna, but now I would have to stand up in front of these women, and no way was I about to wander out with nothing to cover my modesty. My hands had moved from my knees and were now strategically covered myself, which wasn’t really necessary because it is amazing what heat and fright does to a man.

As I sat there pondering what my options were, the sauna door opened and one of the attendants appeared. I immediately thought he had come to shoo the girls out and send them back to the girly sauna, but with quick clever flicks of a towel he forced some of the heat out of the sauna and into the corridor. I thought I could therefore manage a couple more minutes in the reduced temperature.

The attendant then closed the sauna door and tried to cool the room down by splashing water onto the bricks in the corner, lots of steam filled the room and to be honest it didn’t seem to get any cooler in fact I got the impression that the room was getting hotter. Grabbing his towel the attendant started to wave it in the air above the girls, I glanced across at this spectacle but it wasn’t erotic. To be honest I was too busy trying to work out my exit plan to be worried over erotic thoughts.

The guy then moved around the room to the Germans I waited with bated breath for him to reach me so that I could receive some cool air. When it was finally my turn he started to wave the towel above and in front of me. This guy was either a sadist or stupid what was he trying to do kill me? I had to take a look at his towel to make sure it wasn’t a heat gun; I swear I was receiving third degree burns.

Third Degree Burns

When he had finished his little act everyone clapped, I have decided that the Germans are mad.

I left the sauna as soon as the attendant opened the door and showed the girls a clean pair of heals as I escaped down the corridor. In the corridor with my towel securely fastened around my waist I realised that it hadn’t been as bad as I thought, no one whistled or laughed as I exited, I am sure they would have in England, it was all just so .. normal maybe a bit surreal. I wandered down the corridor and came across two old dears both very old, very naked and very wrinkled who were chatting away sat on their towels next to the biggest Jacuzzi I have ever seen. There were already ten people in it and space for at least another fourteen. So I made up number eleven and ditching my towel I entered the Jacuzzi.

As I sat amongst the bubbles feeling very relaxed my mind drifted to my wife Mrs Sensible who would be ironing or cooking parmigiana. I am sure she would love to sit in a sauna and relax in a Jacuzzi, but I know there is no way she would do it nude. It is just not done in Italy or for the matter in the UK.

Thanks to Pixby Shumbles for inspiring my post. I did write a post about swimming in the spa but it has disappeared.

Driving in Italy

Posted on September 17, 2012 by Pecora Nera • Posted in Uncategorized • Tagged an englishman in italy, driving, Germans, Italians, italy, language, sauna, spa, swimming • Leave a comment

Driving on Italian roads is just like participating in a grand Nintendo game but with only one life. The object of the game “Guida” is to try to overtake the car in front, regardless of his speed or the road conditions, while preventing the car behind from gaining points by overtaking you. Points are deducted for the use of indicators or if you are caught driving within the speed limit; however points are gained if you manically flash your headlights while tailgating the car in front. Bonus points are awarded while tailgating if you know it is impossible for the car in front to pull over to let you past. Guida is played throughout Italy although at different levels depending on how far North or South of Florence you are. I mention Florence because the Fiorentini are prohibited from playing Guida mainly because there are an awful lot of autovelox and the local police fine drivers for speeding, which is not really very sporting or Italian.

Italian toll booths, two lanes open up to 10 lanes for the toll booths and back to 2 lanes to join the autostrada. Always an excellent opportunity to practise your 0 to 60 acceleration and dodging / weaving skills.

Palermo and Catania play this game on their roads with a slight difference, points are awarded for the use of exaggerated hand signals and for vocal instructions to other gamers, bonus points if the local dialect is used. With regards to Naples the Neapolitans don’t play Guida at all, it is far too easy for them, they play a game that is a derivation of Rollaball and only experts should consider participating. On a recent trip to Germany I found out that Guida is not permitted in either Switzerland or Germany, their police take a dim view of this Italian pastime, and will fine anyone caught attempting to play the game. Perhaps one day it will be allowed because the Swiss and Germans take great delight in joining the game of Guida as soon as they cross into Italy.

On Thursday I was visited a couple of clients in Germany, and I stayed at a great hotel the food was fantastic and the room was clean and orderly, although to my disappointment they had taken the precaution of emptying the mini bar before I had arrived. Over a drink with the hotelier, I can’t remember her name but she was probably called Greta we discussing the differences between Germany and Italy, her comment was “Yes Germany is well organised but Italy has nice wine and pasta, and they seem to enjoy life more in Italy, we are sometimes too serious in Germany”. So it is not just the English that think the Germans have no sense of Humour.

Greta or maybe she was called Hilda asked me if I had tried the local spa, she informed me that if I wanted to go swimming I could rent a towel and purchase some trunks at the spa. After a 6 hour drive through Europe and a days work it sounded like a really good way of relaxing and easing the knots in my back. So I set off for a relaxing swim.

At the swimming pool there was an orderly queue of people waiting to pay for the entrance to the swimming pool. As I reached the head of the queue the receptionist said “bitte” . Erh do you speak English? I asked. Of course.

Of course!! I forgot it is only the English that only speak one language. I was once told that someone who can converse in three languages is tri lingual, someone who can speak in two languages is bi lingual and someone who can only understand one language is English. Anyway I asked how much to use the swimming pool, 8 euros and 12 if I wanted to use the sauna after. I have never used a sauna but a deal is a deal and I decided to go for the full package.

I changed into my trunks and headed towards the swimming pool. As I entered the warm pool and swam briskly to the centre I was amazed to see that the only person swimming was me, all the other swimmers were standing around the edge of the pool, watching me. There is nothing like the rabbit in the car headlight moment to bring you to your senses and evaluate what faux pas you have just committed. As I swam around in circles I noticed that there was an orderly queue waiting to enter the pool, in my excitement to go swimming I had somehow missed it, but as I stood contemplated getting out of the pool and joining the queue I heard a buzzer and to my amazement everyone standing in the pool took a step to their right and one of the Germans that had patiently queued on the steps entered the water as one women left the pool.

To say I was bemused is a bit of an understatement, I turned a full circle in fact I turned around twice just to see if I could graciously leave the pool by another exit. Unfortunately there was only one exit and there were 32 Germans watching me, I know because I had counted them. As the buzzer once again sounded the static swimmers once again took a step to their right, one more German entered the pool and another left. It was at this point that I nearly drowned; all I could think was the Germans are so organised and disciplined that they even swim by numbers. A woman left her position by the side of the pool and swam to the exit. I decided I had better take her place until I work out if I was allowed to swim or if I also had to move around the pool as regimented as a soldier.

As I backed into the vacant space that she had created, a blast of water hit my left buttock and very nearly knocked me of my feet. As I grabbed the side of the pool I noticed a silver disc stuck to the side with the number seven printed on it. As I stabilised myself and experimented with the water jet the buzzer sounded again, I was quiet reluctant to move away from station seven but the man to my right at station eight had moved and the huge woman to my left was looking at me as though I was a sandwich short of a picnic, even a man who was patiently waiting to enter the pool looked at me as he realised it was I who was holding up his swimming. So I took a step to the right. It was at this point that the giggles hit me and another water blast from the side of the pool buffered the small of my back. I don’t normally suffer from the giggles but it was all too much for me, here I was in a swimming pool being watched by a bunch of very serious Germans waiting for the next buzzer while thinking of the song The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. ♫It’s just a jump to the left and then a step to the right .♫ Too much, much too much. The more I tried not to giggle the worse it got. I managed to get to station 10 a water jet to the back of the knees, before I gave up and left the pool. I walked back to my locker and wrapping the towel around my waist I went in search of the sauna and jacuzzi. Which I may or may not blog about.